


Family Bonding

by readbetweenthelines



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Gen, Nate - Freeform, Sully - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2019441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readbetweenthelines/pseuds/readbetweenthelines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Nate/Sully father son one-shots that U3 just didn't take enough advantage of; Middle Way, Atlantis of the Sands, Second Storey Work. *Major spoilers for U3*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Middle Way

“Charlie ... No, stop - Ch-”

Its Chloe who hears the choking cries echoing down the passage behind them, she stops dead and holds a fist up for Sully to do the same. He sighs, its been awhile since he was the one with the wolfhound sense of hearing. It shouldn’t really bother Sully, and it doesn’t most of the time; he’s getting older, yes - pushing sixty, what can he expect? Most men his age are shuffling about with arthritic knees, while Sully is scaling buildings. 

It’s not being able to keep up with Nate, that’s what bothers him. Sully still remembers those first few years; in hindsight it was probably the only time that he was faster, better than the kid, and then only because Nate was often too small to reach things, hadn’t developed enough muscle to hang for minutes from a crumbling ledge. But once that barrier was overcome, Nate was unstoppable, and the better he became - with Sully as his mentor/father (he never really understood) - the older Victor Sullivan began to feel. He began to let the kid, with his boundless enthusiasm, climb up to open the gates, he became the sniper covering Nate’s back while he stormed into Lazarevich’s camp, he turned away from adventures, leaving Nate to carry on on his own.

It didn’t feel right, and Sully knew that Nate felt the same, however many stupid jokes the kid might make. They were a team. They are a team. And Sully finds that even though its easier to drop out, to let the kid finish the job, it just doesn’t feel right. The only reason Sully ended up in Tibet the last time, there to help Nate and Chloe look after a wounded Elena, was because he had been terrified the moment he left Nate to his own devices. What if something went wrong? What if that had been the last time he saw Nate? Ironically, the only time it hit Sully how dangerous their treasure hunting was, was when he stopped doing it all together. Victor Sullivan has gone soft, he went soft the day he saved a boy on the streets from Marlowe’s men, and no matter how old Nate is, to Sully he’ll always be the surprising little boy who Sullivan spent the last twenty years of his life teaching, protecting.

So when Sully turns to ask Nate if he heard the noise as well, a knot of fear uncoils in his stomach to see that the kid is gone, and so is Cutter - crazy on some drug that Talbot injected into his neck. 

It is then that the strangled cries reach Sully’s own ears. And he would recognize that voice anywhere. Turn. Run. Back up the tunnel. Chloe following close behind, and she knows as well.

“Cutter!” He yells, pausing only momentarily as he emerges from the tunnel, before throwing himself at Charlie and grabbing him round the middle to try and pull the man away from Nate, away from half of Sully’s life. Chloe runs around the front of the man and grams his arms where they hold onto Nate’s neck, desperately tugging at his muscled limbs. Both of the newcomers feel a similar wave of sickness and fear at seeing Nate - Nate - almost collapsed on the floor, mouth gaping open for air, too desperate to notice the arrival of his companions. Chloe looks almost angry at him, and Sully knows why - of course he wouldn’t attack Charlie.

It is in this moment that Cutter roars aloud, almost comically, at the intrusion, throwing his head back to hit Sully in the forehead. The blow dazes him and Sully loses his vice like grip around Charlie’s abdomen. Chloe sees Sully stumble back out of the corner of her eye, and begins to claw even more desperately at the man before her, they can’t have long left. 

It might be the blow to his head, god knows Sully’s brain is rattling around like broken glass in there, or it might be the sudden terrifying realisation; “He’ll kill him!” But Sully thinks that its probably the sight of Nate’s face, still so much the face of that boy he found on the streets all those years ago, that stupid, amazing boy, who is - to all intents and purposes - Sully’s only family. The face that now has teeth gritted in pain, eyelids began to grow lax and drift closed, an ugly purple bruise beginning to spread over one eyebrow. Something snaps inside Sully. This. Will. Not. Happen. 

He stumbles back from Charlie, surprising the younger man by letting him go. It doesn’t last long though, (for Chloe, at least), as Sully draws the deadly pistol from its holster. This is Nate and, even if his judgement has always been a bit haywire around the boy (Just ask Marlowe), Sully’s mind fills with a deadly sense of purpose when the kid is in danger. It isn’t the first time Sully has had to do something like this, and it definitely won’t be the last. But Nathan Drake doesn’t trust anyone without reason - and Sully will be damned if he ever lets that trust down. If that means shooting a (admittedly maniacal) friend, then so be it.

Chloe’s head snaps up at the sound of a gun cocking, surprise flares in her eyes and she jumps in front of the two grappling men. Chloe puts her hand out to Sully desperately as she pleads with the furious man;

“No! What’re you-” 

Sully’s anger flares again, why is Chloe defending that man? 

“Get back!” He is ready to shoot. 

“Don’t!” Chloe’s eyes flash down to Nate and back up again to Sully. And it hits him. This isn’t anyone - this is Charlie. And Nate will never forgive Sully for shooting a friend. Even if that ‘friend’ was strangling him within an inch of his life - stupid kid.

Sully’s hesitation is all the opportunity Chloe needs, and she leaps in front of Cutter, coming in between him and Nate. She grasps the sides of his face in both hands and stares right at him. The drug must be wearing off soon, right? “Charlie, you’re killing Nate.”

Is it their imagination, or was that a frown appearing on Charlie’s face? “Okay, you gotta listen to me - you are killing, Nate.” 

There is a moment when nothing happens. Sully has had enough of this - they are risking Nate’s life! 

But then something changes in Charlie’s expression, horror appears in his eyes. Cutter drops his hands like he’s been stung. He stumbles back, far away from Nate. His back hits the wall, and he looks up in shock at Sully, who is still holding the gun. Sully, however, lost interest in Cutter as soon as he was out of grasping distance of Nate, and Chloe. Nate has collapsed on his side on the floor of the cave and is gasping weakly for breath. Chloe crouches down next to him, forgetting Nate’s attacker as well for a moment. 

“Jesus...” She breathes as Nate starts to sit up, rubbing his neck gingerly, “Here...” She helps Nate up as he coughs again. Sully catches her swift glance, eyes narrowed, directed at Cutter as Nate stumbles getting up. “Here we got you.”

“I’m all right.” Nate rasps, speaking for the first time, and the relief that Sully felt as the kid immediately leans towards him for support dissipates instantaneously. He can almost hear the vocal chords scraping together. That was too close. Nate and Sully might joke around, act as if this whole arrangement is some sort of game; but it’s completely different when one of them actually gets hurt. It’s... an unpleasant feeling. A fatherly protectiveness washes over Sully once more as he shares a glance with Chloe, who seems reluctant to let Nate go. But he dismisses it quickly as the kid leans all his weight onto Sully, still muttering; “I’m all right. I’m all right.” 

I’ll be the judge of that, thinks Sully.

Nate tries to stand up fully, and its clear that he still needs a moment. Hell, after an attack like that most people would probably go to hospital. But as Nate braces himself on Sully’s shoulder once more, and the man glances over at Cutter, still crouched immobile against the wall, Sully knows that it will only be a few seconds before Nate bounces back, brushes it off, and moves on. It’s how it always is - for the both of them. There isn’t time to fuss over broken nails. 

So Sully only keeps a reassuring hand on the top of Nate’s back for an instant before letting him stumble away across the rubble strewn cave floor, dismissing Cutters pleads (“Nate. Nate, Nate. I’m really sorry”) with a pat on the shoulder and an admittedly slightly less than friendly shove, just like Sully knew he would.

“We’re even.” Nate tells Cutter, and with that, somehow, everything picks up where it was left off.

Well, almost.

“Hold on a sec - you weren’t.. you weren’t going to shoot me were ya mate?” 

Sully can just see Nate smirk out of the corner of his eye. Well, let him enjoy it. For now.

Sully (almost) grins wryly at Cutter and shrugs.

“Like a rabid dog.”

And they move on. Nate’s not quite Sully’s son, he’s more, and less. But that’s the closest word there is, and the kid really is the only family Victor Sullivan has ever had.


	2. Atlantis of the Sands

The gates leading into the ‘Atlantis of the Sands’ cranked open, exposing a view over the massive, beautiful abandoned city, gold gilded buildings fading into the distance and impossible wall of sand bordering the edges. Nate exchanged glances with Sully - This was why they did what they did - This moment. The reveal. The discovery.

“Ha Ha! It worked!” 

It’s good to hear Sully laugh. Elena and Chloe were really starting to get him worried about his (father?), wondering whether he should stop hauling Sully along with him on these adventures. But in this moment it was all clear to Nate: Sully was fine, and he always would be, because that’s how Sully worked. They would carry on treasure hunting, because they both loved it, not because Sully felt obliged to do it for Nate. And they would always win, because that’s just what they did.

Nate smirks across at his long time friend before leaping across onto a nearby chandelier, at this stage of his life Nate thinks he would die of shock if ever there was a simple way to get from A to B. He moves as quickly as possible but somehow Sully still beats him to the floor of the grand entrance hall. Again. In the moment before leaping across to the ladder Nate throws across to Sully;

“In the words of Victor Sullivan: ‘I’ll be go to hell’” Sully’ll get the reference, he always does.

Nate jumps to the floor beside the other man, legs bending slightly at the knee the way Sully taught him all those years ago. (“You may be able to land with your legs straight out like matchsticks now, but just you wait kid until you’ve got some real weight to throw behind a landing”) As he rises out of his stoop and they both simultaneously move forward Nate catches the slight grin on the other man’s face at his enthusiasm. Nathan Drake is well aware that he may be acting like a child, but it’s only Sully, so what does it matter?

All joking thoughts are thrown aside as the pair emerge through the magnificent arched doorway. The city sprawls out below them, shaded behind a haze of sand which drifts through the air, making each breath sit hot and dry on the throat.

“Holy shit...It’s true it’s really here,” whispers Nate.

“Oh my God” Sully’s hushed epithet making it clear he agrees with Nate’s sentiment.

As if in reaction to their wonder, their searching eyes; the armed golden statues lining the edge of the pathway move their arms, pointing their spears downwards towards the grand staircase that will lower them into the bowels of the city, inviting them in. 

“Wow” And this time its not even clear who said it. But it doesn’t matter because they are both thinking the same thing. They’ve done it again. Nate and Sully, Sully and Nate. They’ve won against the odds, they’ve protected each other (not to mention Elena, and a handful of others), they’ve survived to see the reward. Nate glances across at Sully, seeing the awed expression on the man’s face and knowing its reflected on his own. Only Sully would understand just what this means to Nate, what it all means. And in that moment Nate hopes, god he really hopes, that nothing ever happens to Sully. Because what’s the point of all this without him. Nate’s only family.

But now it’s time to enjoy this. Nate begins to stroll down the steps, gesturing grandly; “Victor Sullivan, welcome to Ubar.” On a whim he takes a turn to the right (and hell, if he’d known what was about to happen, he would have turned and walked out the city then and there, ‘Atlantis of the sands’ or no), heading across one of many ornate walkways and into a shaded gazebo like building. The dust hanging heavy in the air is already starting to dry out Nate’s throat, only recently recovered from his trip in the Rhub Al Khali.

And is that what he thinks it is?

A Fountain. In the desert.

There is no other word for it; 

“Incredible,” Nate croaks as Sully draws level with him, “This is how the city could thrive all the way out here. The whole place must be fed by an underground spring.”

Sully notices the slight hitch in Nate’s voice. How long was the kid wandering in the desert for anyway? Elena would be furious if he brought Nate back delusional with heat stroke.

He had to admit it was hot though, and dry. The water did look rather inviting.. 

Sully slapped some of the water across his face and the back of his neck as Nate drank longs gulps of the spring water straight from the fountain. Kid needs to learn his limits, thought Sully, standing back up and looking across at Nate.

The kid’s head suddenly snapped up, he was looking over at the back of the building, the side which provided a view over the entire city. Sully was immediately on the alert. What did he see? Had Nate heard something? The kid started to walk towards the open space at the back of the room, looking intently at something in the sky. Sully followed him, growing more and more curious by the second, eventually drawing to a halt beside Nate, right on the edge of a sheer drop down into Ubar. He tried to follow the kid’s unerring gaze upwards, one hand raised above his eyes to block out the sun, but Sully couldn’t see anything.

“What is it, kid?”

Nate turned to look at Sully. And the man immediately knew something was wrong. 

Sully had seen that expression twice before in his life, once on the face of Charlie Cutter, and again on Nathan Drake’s, when he ran, ran away from Sully, Sully and Elena. If Victor Sullivan had a wish it would have been to never see that expression on Nate’s face again, because it meant bad things were about to happen. “Nate. Are you alright?”

The kid doesn’t show any reaction to Sully’s words, a look of shock was on his face, and he is staring intently at a spot just over Sully’s shoulder, as if the man isn’t even there. “Nate?” 

And then the kid attacks. 

Nathan Drake rushes at Sully, throwing his whole weight into a shove which pushed the older man to the ground. Sully automatically reaches up with his gun and dashes it at the side of Nate’s head. Wait, no. It’s Nate, he can’t hit Nate. He pulls back the punch, only lightly tapping Nate’s temple. Then Sully is thrown to the floor as the kid jumps over him and starts to sprint away, face twisted in a mask of rage and anger. “Nate!” Sully calls out after him, “Kid!” Nate doesn’t even turn. 

Sully pushes himself to his feet starts heading after Nate, walking considerably slower after his throw down. The kid might not want Sully to follow him, but Sully’ll be damned if he lets Nathan Drake run off alone. It’s not long before he hears the crackle of gunfire spreading around the city. What the hell is that boy thinking? 

As he reaches the bottom of the staircase that he saw Nate jump down only moments before, Sully hears the sound of a grenade exploding, swiftly followed by a crumbling sound as the bridge that Nate has run along starts to fall apart. There is no time for hesitation, Sully dives forward, runs as hard as he can to get across. He thinks he’s going to make it, but a huge chunk of brick falls away across the entire length of the bridge, there is no way past. Now it’s only a case of turning, swiftly as possible, and heading back the way he came before the entire walkway collapses.

When Sully reaches the solid platform that he started from, he stands for a moment facing the direction Nate had run in. He feels deflated. Maybe I really am getting too slow. That bridge wouldn’t have been a problem for him even a year ago.

That’s when he hears Nate shout out in fear, the cry echoing around the walls of the city, bouncing off the ornate arches and grand stairways. And so what if Sully is getting a little older? Right now Nate is in trouble, and it doesn’t matter if Sully can’t scale walls and jump impossible distances as much as he used to; as long as Nate can do it, Sully will do it too. And it’s not just because of the kid either - Sully would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy the hell out of their adventures.

It’s time to find Nate.

 

*********************************

Sully heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He spun back against the wall and edged around towards his attacker. For the past two hours he has been shooting, running, taking cover, shooting. Sully thinks he’s seen far more of Ubar in the last couple of hours than he would ever have planned on. The man doesn’t even have to think as he lines up his sights with the place where his attacker will emerge, poised and ready to shoot. Easy.

Wait a minute. Was that a blue checked bandana? Sully called out, “That you kid..?” all the while edging closer to the entranceway, ready to fire if it wasn’t. Sully heard a familiar stop, shuffle manoevere and immediately lowered his gun.

Nate stepped cautiously into the pagoda-like building, sweeping his gun around alcoves and darkened areas in the corners of the room. He seemed just as collected as ever, cataloging his surroundings. “Oh thank god...” Breathed Sully, he looked down at the gun he had in his hand, the one he had hit Nate with. He tossed it aside like rubbish. Move on, old man, Sully told himself. “You all right?”

No answer, hostile expression. “Man, I had a hell of a time-”

Nate levels the gun at Sully’s chest. 

Sully starts, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Of all the things that could happen, of all the dangers he is constantly analysing, this is the one thing both of them have never had to worry about; they have each other’s backs, they don’t turn on one another. Sully knows that Nate’s not in his right mind, knows that if he was the kid would never do this, but it feels just the same.

Nate says nothing in reply, just looks at him.

Sully’s heart clenches in his chest, he’s seen that expression on Nate’s face before, many a time. But never directed at him. As if Sully was the enemy. And for a moment, just a moment, the kid, his kid stares coldly at Sully, stares through him, harsh and analytical. And for just a moment, the first time in twenty years, Nate isn’t Sully’s “kid” - he’s Drake, detached and ready to fight. 

“How do I know you’re real?”

And then the moment passes. The moment where, for a second, Victor Sullivan didn’t know Nathan Drake. Where the last two decades of both their lives never happened. No matter how Nate may act, whatever stupid jokes he may crack, he’s still a kid to Sully, and kids make mistakes. This time Sully looks, really looks at Nate, like no one else can, and he can see the reduced pressure of his trigger finger on the gun, the doubt and fear that is hiding in his eyes. Nate’s just shaken up. He’s not mad. He’s not crazy. He just needs Sully to set him back to rights. 

So he does.

Sully takes a step towards Nate, and then another, another. Nate doesn’t pull the trigger, and Sully knows he never would because, hallucinating or not, they are (for lack of a better word) family. And what sort of person would I be if I couldn’t trust my family not to shoot me? Closer, closer, Sully’s hands are almost on the gun now, and not a hint of worry even crosses his mind that here he is, standing in front of a slightly crazy Nate, who is brandishing a gun at him. He smiles as he pulls the gun away from the kid’s hands, not breaking eye contact with Nate. The kid needs his reassurance after all - that, and he needs to snap out of it!

Sully moves suddenly, flicking Nate hard on the forehead.

Their gaze its broken, but this time its because Nate is muttering an indignant “Ow!” and pressing a hand to his face, looking so much like the petulant teenager Sully remembers. Sully leans closer and asks wryly;

“That real enough for you?” He pokes Nate in the chest with the gun that mere moments ago was aimed at his heart. the kid looks up at him apologetically, and they are back into the old routine, Sully the reprimanding mentor; “Don’t, ever, point a gun at me again.”

He knows Nate can hear the reason behind Sully’s scold, that he knows what it would do to Sully if he had to be in that situation for real. But they don’t need to say anything about it. Dredging up the feelings once is bad enough.

Nate chuckles at Sully’s comment, raising a hand to feel his forehead with a pointed glance at the older man. His laugh isn’t cold or mocking - the laugh he gives to an enemy - but a warm, lighthearted chuckle, triumphant. It warms something inside Sully to hear that sound - sometimes he worries that he’s ruined Nate. The relief is tangible.

“I ... I saw them shoot you,” says Nate, and he can’t seem to stop looking over at Sully, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Ah... Thinks Sully, So that’s the problem. And much as he would never admit it, it is kind of gratifying to know that the kid worries about him too, enough to hallucinate about it and go on a rampage, at least. “Right after the eclipse.”

“What?” Sully laughs. Did he hear that right? “What eclipse?” Nate still looks confused, he obviously doesn’t remember what happened. Sully shakes his head and continues; “Look, kid, you went nuts right after you drank from that fountain.” Nate’s eyebrows rise as takes this information in, he looks to the side with that expression and moves to sit down. Now this is an expression Sully knows well. Nate’s onto something. 

The kid looks up at him expectantly, waiting for more. Sully gestures around the shaded building with one hand, “It’s the water. Not the ‘Wrath of God’. The whole water supply is tainted with some kind of hallucinogenic agent.” Nate frowns as Sully comes to his conclusion; ‘Must have driven everyone mad,” and the man knows Nate has caught on - Hell, even Sully thinks he knows where this is going. Nate did learn from the best after all. They have it figured out in a matter of minutes, and really there is only one course of action.

Sully pulls Nate to his feet (God, the kid is heavier than he used to be), and they both turn to the entrance of the building. The sun that had lit up every detail of Ubar only a few hours earlier had now dipped low in the sky, dusty rays reflecting off a multitude of bronze statues and figures littered throughout the city to shine back into Nate and Sully’s faces. Them against the world. This is what they are used to.

“Whaddya say we end this thing. Once and for all.”

It’s not a question. They both know what Nate’s answer will be.


	3. Second Storey Work I

It all started on a rooftop.

The air in Cartegena was heavy and dry, full of dust thrown up from narrow dirt roads. The sun glared down unopposed upon the bright red terracotta rooves of the crowds of buildings, the bright light making the crimson shine painfully bright.

One one of these roofs in particular, enclosed on two sides by tall, whitewashed walls, two figures could be seen standing at a stalemate. To the unknowing observer they would almost appear to be statues, lending a peaceful, perpetual aspect to their surroundings. But if one looked closer, squinted against the glare of the rooftops, they would see a boy of perhaps fifteen, ruffled and panting hard. The boy clutched a shining black pistol, backing slightly away from the large man who advanced upon him in a dark suit. To many the pale pallor of the man's skin and the way he shifted uncomfortably – unaccustomed to the stifling heat – would go unnoticed. But no one could mistake the menacing gait with which he stalked towards the boy. Things were all about to change.

Nate stumbles on the uneven flooring, falling to the ground but continuing to shuffle slightly backwards, the rough slate of the roof tiles scraping uncomfortably against his legs. The gun trembles and slips slightly in his unsteady grasp as Nate points upwards, aiming into the prematurely setting sun. The streams of light blind him as he squints up towards the sound of the older man ambling closer.

"Whoops. You alright?"

If anything, the man's faux-compassion only adds to the sinister effect. Nate has been in a multitude of dangerous, even lethal, situations before, but never could he remember being at such a disadvantage. Could he even fire the gun? Was this man even worth killing over? He scoots further back and, with the hand not holding a death-grip on the pistol, Nate feels the edge of the tiling crumbling beneath his fingers. He is backed into a corner. If Nate moves any further towards the edge of the roof he will go over completely. He is reasonably sure he wouldn't survive the fall.

"What are you shaking for?"

Nate isn't shaking. The man wants to distract him, make him unsure of himself. It isn't working. It isn't. The boy glances back, briefly, over his shoulder. His face is moulded into an expression of fear and confusion, but Nate's mind jumps on the image presented to him – the roof slopes away at an angle, it isn't a vertical drop. He hassurvived worse jumps.

Looking suitably afraid – which isn't all an act – Nate redirects his gaze forwards again. Peering past the rays of sunlight, he squints and can just make out a corner of the man's mouth flicking upwards in a condescending smirk. Nate almost wishes he had some dark glasses as well; if they were going to play the cold and emotionless game, he would at least like to be given a fighting chance.

The man comes to a halt a few feet from Nate and raises his own gun. No hesitation or conflict in his expression as he levels the pistol at a child, aiming right in the middle of Nate's forehead.

"Just close your eyes, this won't hurt a bit."

The man's cultured accent jars against the sinister nature of his words. But Nate isn't under any impression that the man is bluffing. Growing up on the streets of what must have been most every major city in Spain, Nate is well aware of the criminal underworld; and he knows not to expect special treatment, or even sympathy, from anyone who was a part of it. Let alone anyone who isn't a part of it.

But Nate does close his eyes. He is concentrating, tensing his muscles ready to fly backwards over the edge of the roof. He can only have moments left.

Three.

Two.

One.

The sharp crack of a bullet.

No.

Nate's first reaction is to open his eyes in shock. The lack of a new pain anywhere on his body tells him that the bullet was not for him. The grip Nate has on his gun falters, as he stares in disbelief at his hand. Had he fired his gun? Tried to kill someone? (Albeit involuntarily)

No. If Nate can't trust his own reactions, then he can't trust anything. But there was the evidence – the pale man's face is slack, his mouth open in a never ending exclamation of surprise. Nate is almost startled by how little horror he feels at what is almost his first close encounter with a dead body. He is accustomed to being amongst the starving, the malnourished, the dying. But there is a subtle difference between that and the body beginning to slump and fall in front of him now.

The body falls to the floor. And behind it...

Another man. Nate only feels momentary shock before preparing once more to leap to safety, his shocked and trembling arm raising the gun again. It is an empty threat. Nate knows this. But how many of these goddamn mercenaries are there?

But wait. That man, the one with the casual green shirt and American accent. The one who'd outsmarted Nate, and who Nate had thoroughly tricked in return ("telegraphing all my moves, huh?"). The chase over the rooftops was a blur, but Nate is sure he saw a flash of green, taking out a couple of the black-clad assailants. The man in front of him takes a few steps closer, stepping around the dead body, and holstering his gun. Nate's brow furrows in confusion. Who the heck is this guy?

The green man advances towards Nate, much like his predecessor, but this time with hands spread to either side and slow steps. It's as if he is approaching a wild animal. Nate feels some small sense of satisfaction at that, at least someone acknowledges the danger he poses.

Nate flicks the gun back up again as the man draws closer, but the guy doesn't miss a beat. If anything, Nate could swear his actions make a determined, unafraid expression appear on the man's face as his pace increases.

With a brusque "C'mon," the man reaches Nate and grabs his pistol-arm in a firm grip, lifting him bodily to his feet.

Nate doesn't know what to think. He doesn't understand. This isn't how the world works. People are selfish, they only help themselves. It is as simple as that.

With a pat on the shoulder, the green man takes the pistol Nate is still loosely clutching and tosses it aside casually. He then releases his grip on Nate's forearm and looks him up and down, before concluding;

"You're okay kid."

Yeah, Nate finds himself thinking as the man moves away, gesturing for him to follow. Maybe I am.

And maybe he doesn't know everything about how people work, after all.


	4. Second Storey Work II

Sully had to hand it to the kid. He was good.

Victor Sullivan generally considered himself, and was seen as, one of the best in the business. He was a crack shot, as skilled at parkour as an Olympic gymnast, and was known as the only person to call in a no-win situation. But the kid, a kid was approaching his level already, and Sully had never seen anything to rival his spur-of-the-moment tactics. Chasing the boy over the rooftops of Cartegena, Sully had found himself having to think fast, instinctual jumps and directions only barely sufficing. After years going by with what Sully could only describe, for him, as ease; The experience was thrilling.

It was, of course, in practicality that the kid let himself down. Watching the kid shakily pointing a gun at one of Sully's 'collegues' it had become apparent the kid didn't have the nerve to shoot. A person can't afford to be soft, or to take some imagined 'moral high ground' by sparing their rival. Not in the real world. Sully scoffed, he'd lost all his illusions a long time ago, and the kid would have to do the same eventually. Eventually? Ha, talk about being realistic, in a life like this at his age? Thirteen? The kid couldn't last more than other year or so before he made another, fatal, mistake.

Of course, Sully would probably be more worried if a kid had no qualms about shooting a man in cold blood.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Sully enters La Perjila with the kid a silent presence in tow behind him. The dingy bar is almost empty, only a few locals mumbling quietly, secretively, to each other around the edges of the room. Sully has grown fond of places like this in recent years, indeed there is an exact counterpart for La Perjila in every town throughout Europe, as far as Sully knows; Exposed bulbs, low ceilings, and a bartender who keeps quiet about any and all visitors for a small bribe. The stuffed head of a pig and flaking, aged paintings on the wall just add individuality to the stereotype.

The kid distances himself as Sully approaches the bar, a quick glance back shows him the teen is scrutinising a set of framed letters hanging on the wall – a remnant left over from the Spanish Civil War for all Sully knows. As Sully briefly conveys his order to the bartender and waits for its arrival he continues to observe the kid out of the corner of his eye.

The teen already has the makings for Sully's line of work, as the man realises that despite the apparent interest in the décor, the kid is simultaneously checking over the other inhabitants of the bar, including Sully. The man grunts with amusement at the realisation, then picks up his freshly delivered order (an extra few peseta added to the bill) and makes his way back over to the boy.

"You can relax, kid – We're safe here." Sully says good naturedly, sitting down at a nearby table. The kid jumps almost imperceptibly when Sully speaks, but he doesn't reply or move to sit at the table. Manners: Clearly not this kid's priority. And frankly, that's something Sully can relate to. But in this case the kid looks like he's been through the wars, covered in blood, scratches, and slightly thinner than he should be. It's not concern Sully feels, he's sure, but the teen really should eat something.

Sully gestures pointedly at the plate of food; "Go on." Silence again. Well, two can play at that game. Shrugging to himself, Sully starts to drag the plate away, "Suit yourself. If you don't want it..." It's a blatant bluff, but clearly the kid doesn't care as he hesitates, then pulls the plate back and digs in.

Silence again. Sully habitually reaches into his pocket for a cigar. The silence continues as the kid carries on eating, and Sully locates his lighter. But just as the flame takes on the end of the cigar;

"What d'you want from me?" The kid speaks for the first time since their encounter the day before, in that voice with no trace of Spanish inflection, out of place. Hostile and to the point. Sully continues lighting cigar and grunts in amusement;

"A little gratitude would be nice." That earns Sully a decidedly skeptical look. "I did just save your ass back there."

At this the kid only surveys Sully for a few moments, a calculating expression on his face. Entirely too adult. But then, Sully realises, What do I know about children? For all he knows, and frankly, for all Sully wants to know, the kid could be perfectly normal. Well, the heavily sarcastic response the kid gives to Sully's comment is certainly recognisable:

"Thanks." No trace of real gratitude in the kid's voice. Then the boy, undeterred, repeats his earlier query. "But what's in it for you?"

Sully hesitates before responding. Because really, why is Sully doing this? Yeah, at first he helped the kid because although Sully prides himself on his stoic dedication to his trade, any decent human being would draw the line at murdering children. But, truth is, Sully saw the kid's plan the moment he reached the roof – along the lines of 'throw myself backwards off this building and hope for the best' – it was exactly what Sully would have done. In all honesty, the kid could have made it out alive without Sully's help. Possibly.

So the kid is perfectly capable of looking after himself. Why in hell does Sully need to treat him to dinner and a pastoral chat? Sully has never understood kids, and the parental act will probably never be his thing. So why bother?

There is the business with Marlowe, of course. The kid evidently understands something about the situation that Sully doesn't, and the man will be damned if he'll let himself be left in the dark any , the kid is a kind of informant? No. That's not it. There was something about the kid yesterday, making a fool out of Sully and dishing out humorous, but never the less serious, threats. Something about the breakneck escape from the museum earlier today. The kid is clever, different, something Sully doesn't understand.

It's a shame the kid is... a kid. The first time Sully finds someone he can imagine himself working with, and it's a teenager with little to no experience, a teenager whose voice hasn't even broken yet.

But it doesn't matter that Sully doesn't have an answer, because the kid carries on without him anyway; "I mean, you're a crook right?" He reaches for Sully's beer confidently, which is snatched away without comment. Sully can't help but chuckle as the kid nonchalantly picks up his Coke instead, gesturing with it as he says "You've gotta have an angle."

Another disbelieving chuckle as the kid drinks. Sully leans forward.

"You are one piece of work, kid." That gets Sully almost the hint of a smile in return. The man goes for the gap in the kid's defences. "What's your story, anyway?" The kid sets his drink down and looks away, all humour gone.

"Look, mister, no offence-" He says in a low, mistrustful voice. "But I don't even know you."

Still with the 'stranger danger' stuff? The kid's already shown he's got nothing to worry about from your average criminal. Sully sighs and sets his cigar down in the ash tray.

"Easily remedied." He holds his hand out to the kid, who stares at it in surprise. "Victor Sullivan," Sully prompts. The teen says nothing in response and leans back, not taking his hand. Sully almost laughs again, this one's got some serious balls. "This would be the part where you introduce yourself."

The kid just takes another bite of food and raises his eyebrows archly at Sully. The man leans back, "Okay," removing his proffered hand, then, "Suppose you tell me what's so special about that ring."

Sully can tell from the expression on the kid's face that that was the question to ask. The teen sets his fork down, picking up the ring hanging around his neck and turning it in his fingers. For the first time, the kid looks up steadily and meets Sully's eyes, saying simply;

"It belongs in my family." Then in a matter-o-fact voice, "I'm just taking it back." Sully doubts that. There's something else going on here, something the kid is just waiting for Sully to realise, sitting with that inscrutable expression. It's a strange feeling, Victor Sullivan muses, playing the student to a knowledgable teenager. But wait, isn't that ring...?

"Passed down from Francis Drake himself." Sully knows there is still a small trace of disbelief in his voice. But he can tell the kid knows, expects, to be called a liar.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Nate just nods, not elaborating on his story. "That's right." This man, Sullivan, can choose to believe him or not. He sees no reason why he should have to explain himself to a complete stranger. Saving Nate's life, technically, and treating him with a modicum of the respect most people afford to adults, gets the guy a conversation – Nate will tell him what he knows about the ring. But that's it.

Sullivan leans forward and says in a gentle voice, one that Nate resents because it carries the patronising lilt of a 'grown up' talking to a child. Something Nate thought this man understands that Nate really isn't anymore. But he makes the inevitable connection;

"I don't know how to break this to you kid, but Drake didn't have any heirs. No children."

Nate smirks.

"Well...not with his wife back in England, anyway..." His smirk widens into a devilish grin, growing as Sullivan chuckles again.

But then it's Nate's turn to be surprised, as the man appears to accept his explanation off-handedly.

"Okay, good point," And the patronising tone is gone. Sullivan reaches out a hand towards Nate once more, "Let me see it."

Nate has been fiddling with the ring this whole time, but now he closes a fist around it. The man takes on a faintly exasperated expression, and Nate knows he's being closed-off and difficult, especially when Sullivan has bought Nate his first full meal since arriving in Cartegena. But that's just how he's used to dealing with people. Besides, this would explain why the man bothered to give him a meal – convince the ignorant teenager to hand over the ring voluntarily.

"C'mon, kid – If I was going to take it from you, I would've done it by now." Nate's face hardens, he knows that. Sullivan could easily have let the man in the dark suit kill him and take it – For all the man knows Nate had no way of escaping. But Sullivan didn't, he 'betrayed' that woman to save Nate's life – and he doesn't get why.

If this guy, Nate figures, can put his life on the line to help me, then I guess the least I can do is give him a chance for me to trust him. Nate already has the ring off from around his neck, and has passed it into Sullivan's grasp, before he has time to think of a reason not to.

Sullivan's "Thankyou," is sincere.

The man peers at the ring, the motto that Nate knows so well etched into the silver. "So, what is this?" The guy's eyebrows furrow in confusion "Parvis M-"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Sic Parvis Magna," The kid interrupts, impatient. What is that, some kind of code? Sully's confusion clearly shows on his face because the kid shifts and stands up, saying; "It means, 'greatness from small beginnings'" He moves to peer at the ring with Sully, "That was his motto."

"Yeah?" Sully doesn't know what else to say. The kid's whole demeanour has shifted, he's stopped reacting to the movements of the other people in the bar, and his posture is relaxed and confident. Sully finds himself unusually reminded of watching a lecture by the Director of the Museum of Natural History in London. Sully was dragged along by some woman at the time, history's never been his strong point, and all he remembers is the Director's enthusiasm, his single-minded approach to the subject, the way his eyes lit up. Sort of like the way the kid's eyes have now, as he continues speaking.

"You see, Queen Elizabeth gave it to him in 1581, when he got back to England after circumnavigating the globe." The kid's arm is grubby with traces of blood and small scratches as he turns the ring around in Sully's hand to reveal the rest of the inscription. He looks back at Sully, who meets his gaze, "That's when she made him a knight."

Something clicks, and Sully realises what's so off about this, supposedly parentless, kid.

"Well you sure as hell didn't learn that on the streets." And he certainly doesn't talk like a Spanish street child. "How's a kid your age know Latin?"

The kid lifts a shoulder, and Sully thinks he's about to get cut out again. But no:

"The nuns sort of insisted on it." Well I'll be go to hell. So not a street urchin then. And even less reason why Sully should find the kid skilled at rooftop chases and amateur pickpocketing (Sully winces at the memory of his cocky "telegraphing" comment.

"Ahh, so like a boarding school?" A wry expression crosses the kid's face at this.

"That's a nice word for it." The kid doesn't add any more, but he hasn't gone back to closed off and suspicious, which Sully thinks is a bonus. They look at each other for a moment longer and then Sully hands the ring back. He knows when to be grateful with the information he's given, and not to push the kid for more about his past. Now.

No, Sully stops himself, There is only a now, isn't there? There's no way he's getting attached to some kid. No matter how intriguing that kid may be.

"Okay then." Sully goes back to business as the kid sits down, time to find out what he came here for. "So what was all that business with the ring and that astrolabe thing back there?"

But the kid is clearly not playing this game anymore, obviously deciding its his turn to ask the questions. An eye for an eye. Sully can appreciate that.

"Why don't you tell me?" With a faintly accusatory tone (but less bite that it would have had ten minutes ago), "You're the one working for 'em."

Sully needs to sort out this apparent misunderstanding.

"Look kid-" Sully waves his hands, trying to think of how to explain it, "A client wants something, I obtain it. For a price." The kid folds his arms, waiting for more. "I don't ask any questions. It's just a job." A pause while the teen thinks about this, and Sully waits for them to end up back at square one.

But, once again, it appears Sully has misjudged the kid.

"Looked pretty friendly to me." He says this with a pretty decent poker face, but Sully gets the feeling the kid is hiding a smirk. Sully allows himself a suitably vague, "Yeah, well," before continuing.

"Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm fired." The boy almost smiles, but then looks vaguely uncomfortable.

They sit a a stalemate. You're move, kid.

The teenager puts the ring back around his neck.

"Okay, look-" With a decisive tone. "First of all, that was no astrolabe." The kid pulls a scruffy notebook out out his satchel and flicks through the pages, settling on an intricately drawn picture of the object in question, which he moves across to show Sully. "It's some sort of decoding device. Check this out." He flicks excitedly back through the notebook to a map of the Indian Ocean with a red line drawn through it. "On his way around the world, Drake sailed through the East Indies..."

The kid is getting into his tale, raising a finger at Sully to emphasise. "Only he says it took six months to get from here, (a point on the far right) to here (a point on the other side of a group of islands)." Sully shrugs, not entirely understanding the significance;

"Yeah, so?"

"So, it doesn't add up." the kid looks at Sully in confusion, not understanding the man's lack of enthusiasm, "He was way too good a sailor for that. It would have taken him a month, tops."

Ah, wait. Understanding. "He was hiding something... something big."

Sully sits up straighter, suddenly giving the kid his full attention – This is starting to sound just like Victor Sullivan's kind of game. This could be worth a look into, he'd have to bring the walking encyclopaedia along too (And Sully isn't starting to make up excuses to bring the kid along, he isn't), if the prize was significant enough, of course.

"How big?" Sully and the kid's faces are exact mirrors of each other. Hungry for adventure.

"Like secret-mission-from-the-Queen big." A pause as the kid searches about for words to convey the enormity to Sully. "Like millions in plundered treasure that hasn't ever been recovered, big."

They're on the same page, Sully recognises that excitement, the thrill.

"That big?" He asks.

The kid smiles briefly and closes the book.

"That big." He concurs, and sits back down.

"And that decoder has something to do with it." Not a question.

The kid, a weight to his words, says;

"I would bet my life on it."

He almost had.

But now sully sees the problem.

"Oh, swell, and Marlowe's got it." He clenches a fist in frustration. Unconciously, both Sully and the kid are leaning forward, conspiratorially. But at Sully's words, the kid smirks that smirk again. He lifts up the ring;

"Won't do her much good, without the key." Ah, that changes their odds. No, the kid's odds. Our odds? Ah hell. Sully's involved in this too, and if the only person on his side is an, admittedly brilliant, kid, then who is he to turn his nose up at it?

"So it's a stalemate, then?" The kid drops the ring, unaware of Sully's internal debate.

"For now." In an ominously light tone. There's a question there too. Is Sully just here to tie off the loose ends? Or is he hear for the long haul? Because it seems like the kid already is.

There's no choice here anymore. Sully's hooked. By the treasure, and by this kid. Who is he? He talks like a seasoned treasure hunter, and sully'll be damned if the teen doesn't know more about the job than sully ever has.

The man comes to a decision in that moment; Sully will help the kid with this job, make sure he doesn't kill himself, get the treasure, and maybe even teach the kid a thing or two about this life on the way. What could it hurt, right?

But first things first.

"So, you still haven't told me what your name is."

"And you still haven't told me what you want from me." Suspicious little bugger. Sully gets the feeling the only way to get the kid to trust him is to be frank with him.

"Okay, look – You got talent. But you've got a lot to learn." The kid looks disbelieving of that. "You stick with me and I'll teach you a few things."

The kid's face closes, and Victor Sullivan, silver-tongued master of the tricky customers, feels like he's just put his foot in it, honest though he is trying to be.

"Thanks." Again, the kid says 'thanks' in a way which expresses more disdain than graciousness. "But I'm doing just fine on my own." At that sully has to fight the urge to laugh aloud. Had the kid already forgotten this afternoon so quickly?

"Yeah, clearly." Sully gives up trying to tip toe around what ever the teenager is thinking – It's clearly not doing him any favours. This kid wouldn't accept being a student, wouldn't accept being a minor. Wouldn't accept polite, entreaties.

There is only one thing left Sully can attempt. He's all out of clever ideas.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Nate has had just about enough of the all-knowing-mentor act. He's already proved he's just as good as 'Victor Sullivan,' and the man's blasé attitude is enough to drive him crazy. Nate had really though the guy could have helped him, but it seems it really is a case of me-adult, you-child.

A shame, he is the first (and probably only, Nate muses bitterly) person to listen, un-judgementally, to Nate's story. The first person Nate has trusted with the whole thing – But there's something about the man that Nate wants (wanted) to trust.

"Whaddya say we try this again?" Sullivan holds out his hand towards Nate again, and Nate prepares for yet another patronising assumption. He'd thought this man was past that. Someone who wouldn't see Nate like that. "My friends, call me Sully."

And that is probably the only thing … Sully ... could have said to change Nate's mind completely.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

And that's it. A real smile, only briefly, but real.

"Nathan Drake." The kid hesitates, then takes Sully's hand with a firm shake. "Nate."

Sully doesn't understand what changed the kid's mind, hell – Sully doesn't understand half of this bloody conversation – but he's strangely glad that Nate changed his mind.

Well, this didn't go exactly as Sully had planned.

"Drake, huh? Okay." Sully reaches for his almost forgotten cigar, taking his beer in the other hand. The man smiles, with only a slight feeling that he might be getting into something way over his head, and says; "I see great things in our future, kid." Nate nods. "Great things."

And he does.

Sully chuckles throatily, and Nate picks up his fork, a comfortable silence falling between them.


End file.
